


sin prisa pero sin pausa

by takenbynumbers



Series: Pretend The World Has Ended [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29961924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbynumbers/pseuds/takenbynumbers
Summary: Reeve doesn't hold out hope for anything more than a way to stop overthinking. The past, the present, and his future.
Relationships: Reeve Tuesti/Vincent Valentine
Series: Pretend The World Has Ended [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198304
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	sin prisa pero sin pausa

Sitting at the desk, pen in hand, Reeve looks up to see Vincent standing in front of him. He's used to this- unexpected visits at all hours. Veld warned him, at least. And he did give Vincent a standing invitation to come to his office at any time. 

"Hello," he says, perhaps a bit too cheerful. Not that Reeve doesn't have other people to talk to, but he quite enjoys Vincent’s company. For a myriad of reasons. 

"Reeve." That low, gravelly voice drags right down Reeve's spine, and his grip tightens on his pen. "How are things?"

Business, he can do. Launching into the plans of the WRO, his own adjustments and commentary on the direction of everything. At some point, Vincent perches one hip on the corner of his desk, and Reeve gets momentarily distracted by the flow of his red cloak. 

"...And…?” A light prompting, and Reeve realizes he’s zoned out. Letting out a quiet laugh, he rubs a hand over his face, sitting back in his chair.

“Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

“Perhaps you should take some time off.”

Reeve nods, stretching his arms above his head. It’s a novel concept - one he’s not against. It would be _nice_ , he’s just...there’s things he wants to see happen. And it doesn’t feel like there’s all that many hours in a day. Time on the Planet. Something Vincent doesn’t have to worry about, he knows…

“You get too caught up in your head, like Tseng.” 

That gets Reeve’s attention. Because he _knows_ that Vincent has met Tseng - more than once, even after saving his and Elena’s life. But…

“Yeah. He tends to overthink a lot of things. I remember this one time…” He trails off, remembering _that_ time. Fucking in his office. It only happened a couple of times, after some quiet coaxing and getting Tseng to relax - something even Reeve had trouble doing when they were together. But remembering brings with it a whole host of _other_ memories, and he can’t bring himself to dredge up the past. He’s already done it once. 

He wonders if Tseng ever managed to salvage his favorite shirt from the rubble.

Vincent’s knowing hum breaks him from his rumination and he looks up at him. Notes the crimson eyes glinting, almost mischievous under that mop of dark hair. 

“You were saying?” Vincent prompts, crossing his arms over his chest with a kind of ease Reeve wouldn’t expect with that prosthetic of his. It’s elegant, and he sees a lot of how Tseng moves in the way Vincent moves. He wonders if Veld could shed any light on that or if it was ‘Off Topic’ - much like anything to do with Vincent Valentine at the moment and possibly for the foreseeable future. 

“Did you and Veld reconcile?” Reeve changes the subject, knows it’s blatant, but Vincent doesn’t seem to mind. Just shrugs, his expression passive. 

“To a degree. We...cannot change the past. We can only move forward with our memories, and what we mean to one another today. I loved him, once. He loved me, once. We cannot slip those roles back on. Not anymore. It was more closure than I had expected, truth be told.” 

And a part of Reeve wants to ask _when_ this closure occurred. Whether Veld keeping up the good habits he’d picked up upon his employment at the WRO was for himself or for Vincent. Whether Vincent had feelings for someone else, or if he was still hung up on Lucrecia. 

Whether he’d like to go out for dinner sometime after work, with Reeve.

“I understand that. Moving forward. I had someone, and we… _could_ have reconciled our differences. Maybe still could. But...I don’t know. I feel that it’s in the past. Too much time has passed.”

He knows he’s being vague, doesn’t quite trust himself to open up completely. Yes, he knows how many people knew at the end of the day. But after the plate - no one dared broach the subject, especially given all the events after…

“Who?”

Of course Vincent would ask. Reeve clears his throat, just rearranges the papers on the desk. “It’s in the past, right? Can’t slip into those roles anymore.”

Maybe he should reach out to Tseng. Actually spend some time with him, alone. Not with someone else around. He knows Tseng is _trying_ to be better. But he knows he’s never going to make the first move. And yet, why should Reeve?

“Perhaps you should try with someone new. Are you doing anything after work? Perhaps we could get a drink…” 

Is that - was Vincent * _blushing*_? A faint hint of red hit his cheekbones and Reeve wants to marvel at the contrast - so much red, black…

“I think I could be convinced to knock a few back with you, old friend,” he grins, and Vincent nods, uncrossing his arms.

“I’ll meet you out the front later, then.”

Reeve doesn’t say when he’ll finish, and trusts Vincent will be waiting there for him when the time comes. Like always.

*

One drink turns into two. Turns into four. Multiples like something he's not experienced before, like some kind of mathematical algorithm that isn't taught but _experienced and_ fuck he's _drunk._

"I'm not...okay, one time, _one time_ , Cait Sith…" Reeve starts laughing, and Vincent is laughing with him, a flush high on his cheeks like he's drunk. Is he? Reeve doesn't know, doesn't care. Just presses closer, hand on his arm, keeps telling stories of his misspent youth and adulthood he'd rather forget but it makes Vincent _smile._ And how can he resist?

Somehow they end up back at his apartment. And Reeve is fumbling with the key, and there’s a hand on his hip, a breath in his ear, against the shell of his ear. “Can’t concentrate,” Reeve mutters under his breath, making Vincent chuckle darkly - all sin and dark rumblings that he can’t get out of his mind. Of his fantasies.

“Takes a lot to get me drunk, Tuesti,” Vincent whispers and suddenly they’re in his foyer, cool lips pressed to his throat, to his neck and he arches against Vincent, quiet gasps of pleasure escaping him. 

“You…” The tail end is caught in Reeve’s throat, and he grabs Vincent by his waist, shoves him in the direction of his bedroom. All he gets is a laugh in return and _gods_ , he’s reminded of Tseng in more ways than one. Somehow it makes it all the more personal, and his hands are grasping at Vincent’s clothes in a desperate attempt to strip him of them. Clumsy as he is, he manages to get them in the vague direction of his bed, to shove the towering frame of Vincent Valentine onto it. 

There’s a small smirk on Vincent’s face, and Reeve descends upon him, fingers carding through his thick black locks, a dizzying sensation overtaking him. It’s all the spirits and wine he’s drunk, combined with the scent of Vincent against his sheets. All this together with the heat pooling in his abdomen, his cock hardening in his pants, makes him grind down against Vincent, his lips sucking kisses along his neck and jawline - wherever there’s free skin. 

Reeve’s headaches always start behind his right eye, sharp and hot along his browbone and down the side of his face. His movements falter, and he sits up, shedding his jacket and tie thoughtlessly onto the floor. 

“Do you want to undress?” he asks quietly, looking down at Vincent almost expectantly. He’s met with a half-lidded gaze, all crimson and soot like some kind of fire scorching Reeve’s soul. 

“With the light off.”

He doesn’t question it, just finishes stripping and pulls out the small bottle of lubricant and placing it on the pillow before getting off the bed and turning off the light, plunging the room into near darkness. There’s only the faint glow of Vincent’s eyes and Reeve uses that to guide himself back to the bed, curling against scarred bare skin and sinewy muscle. 

Their hands traverse against each other’s bodies, exploring. Vincent is endlessly fascinated by Reeve’s chest, tracing over his nipples and making him arch into the touch over and over. He’s equally mesmerized by the sharpness of Vincent’s collarbone and hips, thumbs pressing into the dip as their hardened cocks glide against each other.

“Can I...is it okay if I…” Reeve tries to get out, fingertips moving back over Vincent’s ass, grazing the cleft, and Vincent chuckles darkly against his lips, moving to the hollow of his throat.

“I want to ride you.”

Reeve fumbles with the lubricant, has to allow Vincent to grab his fingers, guide them to their destination as Vincent straddles his thighs and sinks back against two probing digits. He rocks back against them, and Reeve shoves them in deeper, stretching slowly, lazily. Reeve can fool himself into thinking he’s got all the time in the world, like he can do this all day without hurrying or pause, but he’s desperate to feel that tight heat around his cock.

Vincent seems to sense his eagerness and pushes him back against the bed, reaching for the abandoned bottle and slicking up Reeve’s cock with a kind of ease that Reeve wants to question until he’s shoved back against the bed and - _yes_. A slight weight settles on top, guiding him inside where he _wants_ to be and he can only grasp Vincent by his hips, resisting the urge to thrust up into him until he’s settled.

His eyes have adjusted to the lack of light and he can make out the pale frame of Vincent on top of him, easing back onto his cock. All _heat tight_ and it’s almost unbearable. 

“Vincent…” Reeve starts to say, low in his throat, almost in warning. All he gets is a low rumble, a purr, and suddenly Vincent is lifting up and sinking back down, riding him with slow, smooth motions. He can feel the drag of his cock inside Vincent, cool and warm all at once and he just lays back and feels like he’s the one being fucked. 

Eventually it all comes to a crest - he can feel Vincent working himself harder, faster - up and down, and those claws drag against his chest, causing Reeve to squirm, thrust up into Vincent just as he sinks down, and it - it’s too much. His fingers dig too hard into delicate boned flesh, low moans escaping as he loses himself inside of someone so close and yet still so disconnected from him.

He feels Vincent release onto his stomach and chest, hot spurts of come as he bucks up hard, spilling himself inside that _heat_ as he feels Vincent slump against him, seemingly boneless as Reeve chases his own pleasure.

Afterwards - when Vincent halfheartedly moves off him, and warmed metal rests against the hollow of his throat - Reeve can’t help but stare up at the ceiling, overthinking every action and gesture he’s made over the course of the night. 

“Reeve…” Vincent stirs against him, and he turns over, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, but doesn’t say a word. Just presses a kiss to the top of Vincent’s head and tries - for once - to not think about anything else but the moment that they’re sharing. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter - takenbynumbers


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